


singing for blood

by ictus



Category: Birds of Prey (Comic), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Blackmail, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Frottage, Gunplay, Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 13:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16198766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ictus/pseuds/ictus
Summary: Black Canary's methods of recruitment are more than a little unorthodox.





	singing for blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerdayghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerdayghost/gifts).



> Femslash Exchange treat for summerdayghost who wanted a story about anger, manipulation and terrible people (falling) in love. Not exactly canon-compliant but it roughly fits in with most continuities.

Helena’s living room window is open.

She can sense it from the moment she steps through the door; the air’s too crisp, the ambient rumble of traffic too pronounced.

She’s certain she’d locked it this morning.

Panic grips her for the briefest moment and it’s enough to make her falter, a tiny gasp escaping her lips. She quickly recovers as she closes the door behind her, her movements smooth and fluid as she methodically relocks it, all four locks sliding neatly into place. Whoever her intruder, they’re sure to think they have the element of surprise, and Helena’s determined to allow them the illusion of the upper hand for as long as possible.

She reaches into her bag, her fingers passing over a stack of her students’ papers to wrap around the .357 Magnum she’d bought from a pawn shop two weeks prior. Helena knows there are people after her, people who have been tracking her for months. It seems they’ve chosen tonight to make their move, and she’s desperately grateful she had the foresight to arm herself.

Her heart pounds as she makes her way through the foyer, trying to keep her footsteps even, projecting unawareness. Even though she’s confident in her ability to defend herself, she can’t help but feel like a lamb to the slaughter, fear and trepidation pulsing through her with every beat of her heart.

She rounds the corner to the living room, tightens her grip on the gun and—

“Hands where I can see them.”

The woman on her sofa ( _early thirties, 5’6”, 130lbs, seemingly unarmed_ ) doesn’t so much as flinch at the sound of Helena’s voice, nor does she seem particularly concerned about being on the wrong end of a pistol. The fury in the pit of Helena’s gut intensifies.

“Ms Bertinelli,” she says, a dangerous smile curling on her lips. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Please, take a seat.”

Helena swallows down the indignation of being offered a seat in her own home. “You’ve got ‘til the count of three to—”

“Do you know who I am, Ms Bertinelli?” she asks, cutting her off smoothly. She carelessly drapes an arm over the back of the couch, leaning back and getting comfortable. Helena doesn’t miss the way she spreads her legs a little as she does so.

“That’s what you’re going to tell me,” she grits out. Her fear from earlier has given way to anger, more so because she _does_ know who this is; blonde hair, biker gear, and a pair of fishnets that wouldn’t look out of place on the East End. Helena may not be a part of the League but she’s not so out of touch that she wouldn’t recognise the Black Canary.

Canary raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s necessary. You see, I’ve read your case files and I think you might already have some idea of who I am.” She leans forward, drawing Helena’s attention to a manila folder on the coffee table. She picks it up and idly flicks through it, drawing out a sheet of paper. “Hmm, here it is. ‘Name: Black Canary; affiliations: Justice League… eye colour… current whereabouts…’ ah, here we go. ‘Abilities—’”

Helena’s grip on the gun goes white. She knows what’s coming next.

“‘—Canary cry: ultrasonic vibration, potential to destroy solid matter including metals. Organic matter also affected.’” She aims a wink over the top of the dossier before continuing. “‘Unparalleled in hand-to-hand combat, expert in a variety of disciplines including Muay Thai, Judo, Aikido, Capoeira… Excellent tactician and strategist…’ Ms Bertinelli, you _do_ flatter me.”

All Helena can do is grit her teeth in response, her grip on the gun so tight that a fine tremor has begun to show.

Canary closes the folder and tosses it carelessly back on the coffee table. “So now that we’ve established I can destroy that gun before you’re even halfway to pulling the trigger, why don’t you put it aside and take a seat?”

Helena’s lip curls into a snarl, her breath coming short and fast. She briefly soothes herself with a fantasy of what Canary’s body would look like riddled with arrows and reluctantly sets the gun on the coffee table. She then seats herself opposite Canary with as much righteous indignation as she can muster.

“Thank you. Now that we’re done with introductions, we can get down to business.” She crosses her leg exposing more of her thigh. Helena resolutely does not let her eyes linger. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” she says and waits for Helena’s response. Helena refuses to indulge her. Canary continues unerringly. “I’ve been working as part of an organisation for some time now, a group of vigilantes such as yourself who are making great strides in reducing crime and protecting innocent lives. As of late, we’ve found that we have room for expansion—”

“I’m not joining the Justice League.” She tries to keep her tone even but some of the fury bleeds through, unbidden. She’s barely been deemed good enough to patrol Gotham despite proving her worth time and time again, and now Batman has sent _Canary_ of all people to spy on her and extend an invitation to join the League? Her hand suddenly itches for the gun and she thinks longingly of the crossbow stashed in her bedroom.

Canary’s eyes narrow as her lips curve into a smirk. “I’m not talking about the League.”

Helena’s eyes widen and Canary looks—if possible—even more smug. “You know Helena—”

“Ms Bertinelli,” she says sharply.

The infuriating smirk is back, but she relents. “Apologies, Ms Bertinelli,” she corrects, reaching forward to retrieve the dossier once more. The movement draws Helena’s eyes to her breasts and she wonders if Canary does that on purpose. “You’re not the only one who keeps case files.”

Helena’s heart is in her throat as Canary flicks through the folder’s contents, a sense of foreboding adding to the fury in her gut. It only intensifies when Canary begins to read. “‘Bertinelli, Helena Rosa. Marital status: single. Occupation: school teacher. Alias…’ well I’m sure I don’t need to say it out loud,” she says with another wink. Canary may be toying with her but Helena keeps her expression neutral, refusing to give her the satisfaction.

“You know I was so sorry to hear about your parents,” she says, and this time Helena can’t stop the snarl from forming on her lips, a retort already halfway out her mouth. “I can’t help but wonder how different things would have been if there had been someone there to protect—”

“I _do_ protect people,” she shouts, all that barely-contained rage finally leeching out of her. “Every single night, I’m out there risking my life to keep others safe.”

“You do,” is the simple reply. For the first time there’s no disparaging undertone, just a plain admission, neutral and unaffected. “But the actions of one person are not enough. In order to cover the most ground, to exert the greatest force, a coordinated effort is needed.”

“What are you proposing, exactly?”

Canary regards her for a long moment, pinning Helena with her gaze. “The Birds of Prey are a small-scale organisation operating out of Gotham City. We are fully autonomous, and we have all the funding and tech we need to get off the ground. All we need now, is agents. And my colleagues and I have decided that you’re indispensable.”

Helena doesn’t speak for a long moment, just listens to the blood flow through her, focuses on the feeling of her pulse hammering away in her throat. When she finally finds her voice, her steely tone does little to conceal her rage. “If you think you can follow me for months _.._. If you think you can invade my privacy _—_ only to break into my home and what, what is this?” She snatches up the dossier and flings it at Canary, gratified to see her flinch. “Offer me a _job opportunity?_ ” She’s risen to her feet, hovering over Canary with her hands balled into fists at her sides. “If you think you could do all that and I’d say _yes_ , then you don’t belong to any organisation that I’d ever want to be a part of.”

Canary picks up the folder from where it’s fallen in her lap and carefully replaces its contents. She’s still looking away from Helena when she says, “I think you misheard me, Ms Bertinelli. I _said_ ,” she pauses to meet Helena’s eyes and hold out the dossier, “that my colleagues and I have decided you’re indispensable. Take a look at the folder.”

Helena wants nothing more than to grab the gun and shoot her right here in her living room, superpowers notwithstanding. Instead she feels her hand extending to take the folder as if it were controlled by someone else, some unseen puppeteer pulling her strings. What she sees knocks the wind out of her.

Inside the folder, beyond the profiles on Canary and herself, are photos; photos of _Huntress_. Glossy, high-res shots. Photo after photo capturing her gliding between buildings, apprehending muggers, on stakeouts, and even—Helena’s blood runs cold at the sight—a series of photos from within her apartment showing changing out of her Huntress costume, leaving no reasonable doubt as to her identity.

“I should also mention that our surveillance expert is probably one of the best in the world. There’s no tech she can’t hack.”

Helena’s distantly aware that she’s collapsed onto the couch. Her hands, she notices, are shaking. “What is this, blackmail?”

Canary leans forward, closing the distance between them. “No. This is incentive. I know you will be an excellent asset to our team, and I fully believe that our partnership will prove to be mutually beneficial in time. The Birds of Prey have resources that are far beyond anything you have as Huntress. I know you might be reluctant to join, but I hope this provides you with motivation to reconsider.”

Helena continues to flick through photos as if on autopilot, unable to tear her eyes away. She finally comes across a set of photos not of her as Huntress, nor of her in her apartment. Her heart stutters when she realises the photos were taken at her school through the classroom window as she was teaching, all of her students in plain view.

Helena doesn’t think twice. She launches over the coffee table and tackles Canary with so much force that the couch skids back a few inches. Canary is strong but Helena caught her off-guard, has her wrists in a pin while the other one finds its way around her throat.

Canary’s eyes are wide and panicked and Helena savours the victory, revelling in the feeling of Canary’s body pinned beneath hers. The feeling lasts for a second before Canary’s narrowing her eyes and rasping out, “didn’t you say— _unparalleled_?”

Helena barely has a moment process her words before she’s being flipped off the couch onto the ground, Canary landing solidly on top of her. She gasps as the wind’s knocked out of her and struggles wildly, anger clouding her judgement and making her movements uncoordinated. Within seconds Canary’s pinned her hips with a strong thigh between her legs, rendering her lower body immobile. In that same moment, Canary seizes her wrists with one hand and grinds her bones together with such force that Helena cries out in pain.

Canary reaches out to the coffee table with her other hand and Helena takes advantage of her weight displacement. She bucks her hips but Canary’s an immovable presence above her and the action only results in Helena grinding against her thigh.

A low chuckle from above tells her that fact has not escaped Canary’s attention.

She lets out a frustrated noise that quickly dies in her throat when she feels something cold press into her cheek. Canary is back and hovering over her, her face just inches away, and Helena’s brain stutters as she realises what Canary had been reaching for. A fresh wave of anger washes over her as Canary turns her own gun on her, running the cold metal of the barrel over her cheek in a crude imitation of a lover’s caress.

“I don’t think you’ll be trying that again anytime soon,” she murmurs. Helena can’t take her eyes off her lips, so close to her own.

“I don’t think _you’ll_ —”

“Shhh,” she croons, gently resting the tip of the gun on Helena’s bottom lip. She continues as if Helena hadn’t said anything at all. “I’ve seen you in action and your technique is good, but your anger makes you sloppy. You can’t let emotion cloud your focus. All it takes is one lapse for your opponent to gain the advantage.”

As if to illustrate her point, she reasserts her hold on Helena, gripping her wrists hard enough to bruise while the thigh between her legs exerts even more pressure. Helena throws her head back, caught between the dual sensations of pleasure and pain, and Canary takes the opportunity to press the muzzle of the gun under her chin.

Canary moves up her body so she remains eye-to-eye with Helena, her hair falling over Helena’s exposed throat in a way that makes her shudder. The shift changes the angle of her thigh and Helena can no longer stop the tiny, desperate movements her hips are making. To anyone else they would appear as signs of a struggle but Helena knows better and, judging by her knowing smirk, Canary does too.

Canary drops her voice to a low murmur. “Luckily for you, we can train you. Enhance your focus.” Her lips are so close now, barely a hair’s breadth away. Helena’s caught between wanting to pull away and wanting to close the distance between them, but with the gun wedged under her chin she’s helpless to do either.

“Here’s what you are you going to do,” she says, her lips brushing Helena’s as she forms each and every word. “On your bedside table, you will find an encrypted phone. Communication is one-way; we will contact you 24 hours before our next meet. You will be sent a time and a set of coordinates.”

She’s now pressing her thigh between Helena’s legs in counterpoint to Helena’s shallow grinding, and for the first time tonight Helena finds herself shaking in a way that has little do with either anger or fear. Canary starts mouthing along her jaw, breathes her next words into her skin. “You will meet us there at the specified time. You will be alone. You will be unarmed. Is that understood?” She pulls back and anticipates Helena’s response.

With a gun under her chin she can’t nod, but Helena finds her lips forming the word “yes” before her mind can catch up with her.

“Good,” she whispers. Canary leans forward to kiss her and Helena’s eyes fall shut, her whole body leaning into it. Without warning, the hot press of Canary’s body is gone, her absence abrupt. Helena’s eyes snap open to see her retreating backwards across the room towards the window, openly leering at her. All Helena can do is lie there, her chest heaving as she watches Canary duck out the open window.

“See?” she calls out over her shoulder. “I told you we could offer the right incentive.”

Canary blows her a kiss and slips gracefully out the window, leaving Helena alone with her fury.


End file.
